The creaking wooden stairs gave a faint, rhythmic groan under their boots as Flio, Marielle, and Elios descended back into the warm, smoky haze of the tavern floor. The heavy velvet curtain fell shut behind them, cutting off the quiet upper rooms of the information guild where parchment had been exchanged for heavy purses of coin.
Flio adjusted his hood, pulling it lower over his eyes until little of his face could be seen. They wove through the scattered tables, dodging tired mercenaries, local couriers, and hooded brokers hunched over tankards of dark ale.
"Wow," Elios murmured in a low, hushed voice, stepping closer to Flio's side as they neared the entrance. "You gave him a lot more coin than usual."
